


someone great

by zealotarchaeologist



Category: SOMA (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, happy holigays, look you heard that phone call they clearly love each other, love you miss you mean it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5541137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealotarchaeologist/pseuds/zealotarchaeologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes support just means fast food and kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	someone great

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gory/gifts).



> Gift fic for my gay roadtrip partner in crime. ♥

The absurdly large pizza box propped open on the table is like a centerpiece in the work of messy art that is Simon's apartment. It’s been almost a week since he was discharged, and he’s settling back in after the sterile environment of the hospital. And if his place is a little more trashed than usual then hey, his excuse is that he’s recovering from a traumatic head injury.

Sure, he’s had a few concerned visitors. Not his parents, though they sent a card. But talking to people just makes him feel so much worse. Every time it seems like he’s the one doing the consoling, and if he has to listen to them tell him how it’s _going to be alright_ one more time, his brain is probably going to explode.

So far, Jesse hasn’t done any of that. Just brought him pizza and talked about work. It’s not exactly normal—Simon can tell, for instance, that they’re both trying very, very hard not to mention Ashley—but it’s something close, and he needed it.

“So, when do you think you’ll come back in?” Jesse asks conversationally, like he’s just taken a few sick days off or something. Simon looks at the floor.

“I don’t know. The doctor ’ll probably give me the okay soon.” Whether or not he’ll be feeling up to it is a different story.

“Yeah? I miss having you around, man.”

Simon laughs it off. “You know how it is. Can’t take this much handsome out in public.” He takes a bite of his third? Fourth? Slice of pizza and almost cries. So much better than hospital food.

“Right, safety hazard. Think of the poor customers.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, just eating. Normally the TV would be on, and they could make fun of whatever low-budget horror Jesse picked out this time, but that’s not a possibility anymore. Just another thing for Simon to be thankful for.

“…seriously though, you should get out. Get back into it, you know? Otherwise you’re just gonna sit in here and think about it.”

“I’m sorry, who made you my therapist?” Simon tries to keep the edge out of his voice. He's had just about enough of people's well-meaning advice, okay.

Jesse frowns, uncomfortable. “I’m just saying. Folks are worried about you.”

“Why be worried about me? I’m the one who’s _alive_.”

“ _I’m_ worried about you. Fuck, man, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d—“ then he cuts himself off like he can’t bring himself to say it. Instead he leans forward and tries to kiss Simon without knocking heads. Which is a lot for Simon to process, even if this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

It takes a second for it to occur to Simon that he should probably reciprocate. But once he catches up, he does so with enthusiasm. Sure, it’s a little awkward and he probably tastes like shitty pizza but fuck it, he’s alive. He needs this.

Then Jesse pulls away and Simon wonders for a minute if he’s done something wrong, if he was coming on too strong maybe, if—

“Uh, Simon? You’re kind of bleeding.”

“Shit!” Simon shoves himself backward and reaches for his head, tracing for the line of his stitches. Yep, that’s definitely bleeding. A little smears onto his forehead. Gross. He doesn’t really understand what the doctor said, something about intracranial hemorrhage and stress and the fact that his goddamn head wound hasn’t fully healed yet. But it all adds up to the fact that now his head bleeds whenever he’s any less than perfectly calm. At least this one isn’t bad enough that he needs another doctor visit. “Ugh, I’m sorry. Just gimme a second.” He starts to stand, but his friend pushes him back down on the couch.

“Hold on, I got it.” Jesse goes for the towel already sitting on his bedside table. Simon leans back on the couch and tries to just breathe, deep inhales and exhales that are supposed to calm him down.

Jesse leans over him, brings the towel up to his face. He tries not to flinch away. Weird that this somehow feels more intimate than kissing.

The towel rasps against the edges of his wound a little bit, but Jesse is very gentle. It feels kind of nice—not fingers-running-through-his-hair nice, but it’s just nice to feel cared for. Not one person so far has understood how to take care of him. Pretending everything was normal didn’t help, couldn’t help.

“Was that my fault?”

“Nah. Happens any time I do something more exciting than just laying here.”

“So I’m guessing making out goes against the doctor’s orders.”

Simon shrugs in response because yeah, probably, but he’s also not going to say no to the possibility. “She didn’t mention it specifically.”

Jesse finally pulls the towel away and gives him a once over. Then he leans forward to kiss Simon’s forehead, carefully avoiding the stitches. “There. All better.”

“Oh, I’m healed. It’s a miracle.” Jesse just laughs and kisses his forehead again. Then again, and again, and again.

For the first time in weeks, Simon feels like things might be alright. Not normal, but alright.


End file.
